


No Raindrops On Roses

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-04
Updated: 2006-10-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: In the aftermath of In My Time Of Dying, mixed in with my take on the Winchester's childhood.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** No Raindrops On Roses  
 **Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
 **Disclaimer:** Not mine  
 **Rating:** Hard R/NC-17  
 **Summary:** In the aftermath of In My Time Of Dying, mixed in with my take on the Winchester's childhood.  
 **Author's Note:** There's not really a plot. Or a point. I just wanted to add my piece to the post-premiere fics pie.  
 **Spoilers:** 2x01- In My Time Of Dying  
 **Warnings:** Rimming  
  
  
  
Dean sighs, and pulls to a stop in the motel parking lot. “I’ll check in, you get the bags?” he asks, glancing over at Sam.  
  
Sam doesn’t say anything, barely even acknowledges Dean, just sits there, staring at nothing, and gives a small murmur.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asks quietly, reaching over to grasp Sam’s shoulder, but Sam jerks away, and nods.  
  
“Fine,” Sam tells him, voice scratchy from lack of use. “Bags, whatever.”  
  
Dean sighs again, then pulls back, tapping his fingers to the steering wheel for a couple of beats before unbuckling his seat belt. “I hate this car,” Dean mutters, glancing over at Sam to see if he had any reaction. It takes a couple seconds, but Sam finally speaks again.  
  
“Bobby’s fixing the Impala,” he says quietly and quickly, so much so that it’s hard for Dean to understand him. “Rent something else.”  
  
Dean shrugs, then climbs out of the car. “Cheapest one they had,” he says, patting his pocket for his wallet. He closes the door then makes his way up to the main door of the motel, going to the desk.  
  
Sam looks around, and shifts in the uncomfortable, barely worn-in seat. “Bags,” he repeats, glancing to the back seat, but he just can’t get the strength up, or just care enough, to move. He takes a deep breath, then watches the door of the motel, waiting for Dean to come back out. And sure enough, in a few more seconds, he does, room keys in hand. He takes another deep breath, waiting for Dean to come back over to the car, that stupid fake smile on his face again, and scold him for not hurrying up. Well, someone had to take over John’s job.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean asks, walking over to Sam’s side of the car. “What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam tells him, and opens up the door. It would’ve hit Dean, had he not jumped out of the way. “And nothing.”  
  
Dean stands back and watches as Sam opens the back door, and grabs their bags, bumping both doors closed with his hip. “Alright, well come on, it’s late.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agrees softly, carrying one bag on each of his shoulders. He follows a few steps behind Dean to the room, leaning against the wall as Dean unlocks it. He walks into the room, immediately dropping both bags on the floor, and going into the bathroom.  
  
“Thanks, Sam!” Dean calls behind him, sarcasm dripping in his voice.  
  
His only reply is the slamming of the bathroom door.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam lays in bed, waiting for Dean to come out of the bathroom, and turn off the lights. He rolls over onto his side, watching the room door, waiting for the father he no longer had, to come bursting in, babbling about demons and vampires, or a hunt he had just been on.   
  
_“How was it?” Dean asked, bouncing up and down in front of their father, eyes wide with excitement.  
  
“It was a hunt,” John answered, toeing off his boots. He looked down at both his sons, Dean still bouncing, Sam sitting on the floor. “How was Sammy, he behave?”  
  
Sam nodded for Dean, looking up at John. “I’m good.”  
  
“He was good,” Dean confirmed. “Aren’t you going to ask about me?”  
  
John smiled, then crouched down in front of Sam, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “How was Dean? He behave?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “He’s good.” He smiled wide and bright as John picked him up, setting him on his hip.  
  
“So, do you two wanna hear about it or not?”  
  
Sam nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth, while Dean just smiled._   
  
Sam can feel his eyes watering up with tears that he soon blinks away, and he sniffles. “Fuck,” he mutters, reaching up to wipe at his nose.   
  
_“Would ya mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”_  
  
Sam sniffles again, and pulls the sheets around him tighter. He squeezes his eyes shut, body shaking with the force of trying to keep his cries in. “Come on, Dean,” he pleads softly. “Come back out, come on.”  
  
As if Dean had heard him, the door to the bathroom opens, and Dean flicks off the bathroom lights. “Sleeping already, Sam?”  
  
Sam shakes his head and wipes at his eyes, sniffling still. “Waiting for you.”  
  
“Sam?” Dean asks, pulling on his t-shirt. “You okay?”  
  
Sam nods this time. “Yup,” he says weakly. “Never better.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down enough to talk without his voice breaking. “Come to bed?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answers, voice soft. “In a sec.” He pulls on his boxers, and left the towel on the floor, soaking into the carpet. He pads on the floor to the bed Sam is already in, and pulls back the sheets, climbing in behind Sam. He spoons up behind him, arm on Sam’s waist, holding him there. “You okay?” he asks again, not believing one bit Sam’s previous answer.   
  
Sam nods again though, and shifts in Dean’s arm until he’s facing him, face buried in Dean’s neck. “Miss him,” he mumbles, clasping onto Dean’s shirt.  
  
_Sam grabbed onto Dean’s shirt, pulling Dean so close they just looked like a mass of limbs and heads, and he began to shake, trying to keep his tears in. “Want Daddy,” Sam cried, tears finally spilling out.  
  
The thunder clapped loudly outside, and another flash of lightening lit up the room, causing Sam to grab even more of Dean’s shirt.  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean said soothingly, rubbing Sam’s back. “It’s just thunder, it’s okay.”  
  
Sam winced as it thundered again, and he practically climbed onto Dean’s lap, wrapping his other arm around Dean’s neck. “I still want Daddy.”  
  
“I know,” Dean said softly, pressing a kiss to Sam’s temple, before reaching up to run his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Me too.”_  
  
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Dean, and he tightens his arm around Sam’s waist. He nods then gives Sam a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll make it, Sammy, it’ll be okay.”  
  
Sam shakes his head. “You don’t know that,” he says, pulling away a bit to look him in the eyes. “You haven’t cried,” he points out, reaching up to gently run his fingers over the skin under Dean’s eyes, the skin that has remained dry. “Why won’t you cry?”  
  
“I--” Dean clears his throat, “I don’t know. I just … can’t.”  
  
“Dean, I want you to cry,” Sam says. “It’s okay to cry, especially now.”  
  
Dean nods. “I know. I know that, Sammy. I just-- I don’t want to talk about this, okay? Come on, let’s go to sleep.”  
  
Sam sighs then presses a kiss to Dean’s chin, just about the only part he can reach without moving completely from Dean’s arms. “I’m here for you, Dean.”  
  
Dean nods again then bites back a yawn. “I know that, Sam. But I’m tired, I just wanna …” his voice drifts off, and his breath evens out. Either he is asleep, or doing a pretty damn good job of faking it.  
  
Sam snuggles in closer to Dean, letting himself drift off, safe and warm in Dean’s arms. “Goodnight, Dean.”  
  
_“All clear.”  
  
“Clear.”  
  
They shocked Dean’s chest, lifting him off the bed, but the nurse still said, “still no pulse.”  
  
“Okay, let’s go again, three-sixty.”  
  
“Charging.”_  
  
Sam jolts awake, gasping loudly. He pants, and reaches blindly in the dark, grabbing onto Dean’s hip.  
  
Dean yawns, and lifts his head, looking around. “Whasgoinon?” he mumbles, eyes blinking wildly. “Sammy, you okay?”  
  
Sam’s eyes are wide, tears brimming brightly, and he sniffles. “Dean?” he asks, voice sounding so much weaker than he wanted it to. “Dean, please don’t leave me,” he pleads, laying back, pulling Dean onto his chest.   
  
“That’s different,” Dean murmurs, shifting to get more comfortable on Sam’s chest. “Usually I’m the one who asks _you_ not to leave.”  
  
“Please don’t leave me,” Sam says again, pulling Dean up to get their faces level with each other. He leans up, and gives Dean a hurried kiss, digging his fingers into Dean’s scalp, holding him close. He slips his tongue into Dean’s mouth, tracing and tasting every part. “Don’t go,” Sam says quietly, breaking the kiss.  
  
Dean shake his head, propping himself up, hands on either side of Sam’s head. “I’m not leaving you, Sam. I didn’t mean to almost leave you this time.” He chuckles softly. “Or all those times before.”  
  
“I can’t lose you too,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s neck, tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweat on the skin. “I lose everybody.” He lets his hands drift down from Dean’s head, slowly, over his back, to grasp Dean’s buttocks, pulling his groin against his.  
  
Dean gasps as Sam arches up, breath coming quickly. “Sammy, we shouldn’t--”  
  
“Dean, don’t leave me,” Sam begs, as one of his hands drifted from Dean’s back to Dean’s front, slipping his hand in Dean’s boxers, grasping his cock gently, squeezing the base.  
  
Dean’s eyes flutter shut and he moans, head tilting back.  
  
Sam leans up, attaching his lips to the newly exposed neck, sucking a patch of skin in. “Please, Dean,” he whimpers, thrusting his hips up against Dean’s. “Please, don’t go.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean assures him, thrusting back into Sam’s hand.   
  
“I almost lost you,” Sam says, leaning up to grab Dean’s lips in another kiss. “I should’ve-- he died anyway, I should’ve shot--”  
  
“Sam, _no_ ,” Dean says sternly, pulling away from him a bit. “Don’t say that.” He presses a kiss to Sam’s cheek, his tongue coming out trace a fresh scar. “Now shh, let me take care of you.” He moves down Sam’s body, grasping the hem of Sam’s t-shirt, pulling it over his head. He presses kisses all along Sam’s abs, flicking his tongue into his belly-button before reaching down to grasp Sam’s boxers, pulling them down. “Roll over,” he commands quietly, kneeling as he watches Sam’s long frame roll on the bed, and he gulps. “I’m not leaving you,” he says into the skin of Sam’s lower back. He can feel his own tears begin, and he blinks them away, sniffling loudly. “I can’t leave you, I love--” he clears his throat, taking a deep breath. “I love being with you.”  
  
Sam inhales the scent of the pillow, and nearly bites down on it when he feels Dean’s tongue meet his entrance, lapping at the puckered skin. He gasps as Dean’s tongue continues to work at him, swirling around. “No, De-- Dean, no.” He shudders as Dean’s tongue breaches the muscle, thrusting in and out slowly. Sam almost wants to pull away, wants to roll away, the stimulation a bit too much, but instead pushes his hips back against Dean.   
  
Dean moves his head down, licking the skin behind Sam’s ballsac, before dragging his tongue up slowly, from perineum to coccyx.  
  
“Stop,” Sam pleads, a white-knuckled grip on the sheets. “Dean, pl-- please, I don’t--”  
  
Dean pulls back, sitting back on his heels, and wipes his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he asks, scared that he did something he wasn’t supposed to. “I thought you--”  
  
Sam rolls over, breath coming quickly, eyes glazed over. His cock is hard, curled against his belly, leaking onto the taut skin. “You can’t avoid this.”  
  
“I’m not avoiding this, Sammy,” Dean snaps, rubbing at his eyes. “But talking about it isn’t bringing him back, and this is the only thing I’m good at!” His shoulders drop, and began to shake slightly, but he’s still not crying. The tears just won’t come this time. “Fuck,” he mutters, bringing his knees up to his chest.   
  
Sam gets up on his knees and crawls to Dean, grasping onto the sides of his head, lifting his head to look at him. “Don’t say that,” he says softly, trying to get Dean to look into his eyes. “That’s not true.”  
  
“If-- if I had figured it out earlier, or if I had done something different,” Dean starts, staring at the wall behind Sam. “If I hadn’t ended up in the hospital, Dad would still be here. Dad wouldn’t have had to die for me. Dad _shouldn’t_ have had to die for me.”  
  
Sam pulls Dean in for an awkward hug, and pats his back. “If I hadn’t have been born, Mom wouldn’t have had to die for me,” he says quietly, breath hot on Dean’s ear. “But they did it because they loved us, Dean. And I don’t think they regret it.” He pulls back, and finally, Dean looks him in the eyes. Sam takes a deep breath, and tries to smile, but more tears just spring to his eyes. “They’re together now.”  
  
Dean’s eyes finally well up at that, and his head drops forward, shoulders shaking from his soft cries. “I miss him, Sammy,” he says, voice cracking from the tears. “I miss them both so much.”  
  
Sam pulls him back in, pressing soft kisses to Dean’s neck, and rocks them back and forth, much as Dean had done when they were younger. “I know, Dean,” he says, trying to comfort him. “I know. But I think they’re happy with what they did. And I think they’d want _us_ to be happy.”  
  
Dean cries even harder, pulling Sam as close as he can get. He buries his face in Sam’s neck, their positions from earlier reversed.   
  
“I love you, Dean,” Sam says, not sure what else to say. They’ve never said it before, not since this whole thing started, and in the second before Dean speaks, Sam’s gut fills with regret and dread, scared to death of what Dean will say.  
  
“Love you too,” Dean mumbles, and he inhales the scent of Sam’s skin, wanting never to move, wants never to face the world again. He sighs, and feels his tears coming to an end, finally calming down. He curls onto his side, and almost climbs into Sam’s lap, wrapping an arm around him. “Sleep,” he says, and he snuggles in closer.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, and finally realizes that he never did get redressed. “Fuck,” he mutters, but he sets his head against Dean’s, and lets himself drift off to sleep, tears drying on both their cheeks.   
  
  


End file.
